


The Vicar's Wife

by MostPreciousTreasures



Category: Emma (2020), Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Apple-Based Fantasy, Apples, Brandy (Alcohol), Dinner Party, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Gentlemen's Dinner, Jealous Mr. Knightley, Jealousy, One Shot, Pining, Protective Mr. Knightley, Protectiveness, Sexual Fantasy, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostPreciousTreasures/pseuds/MostPreciousTreasures
Summary: “Mr. Knightley...you are well-acquainted with the Woodhouses, are you not?”Mr. Knightley felt his brow wrinkle before tempering his expression back into cool detachment. “Indeed,” he answered easily, “I have known the family since infancy. And since my brother’s marriage to Mr. Woodhouse’s eldest daughter and the death of my own parents, they are, in every practical sense, my family.”Mr. Elton smiled slightly. “That is most heartwarming Mr. Knightley. I am glad to hear you have such a relationship with them, as I am most curious to learn more about the family.”Mr. Knightley cocked his head. “What do you wish to know?”
Relationships: Emma Woodhouse/Philip Elton, George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 12
Kudos: 224





	The Vicar's Wife

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on an "anon" request I got on my [Seasonable Weather post:](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23508460/chapters/57123688#workskin)  
> "what if a moment where Mr. Elton speaks to Mr. Knightly about how desirable Emma (or her money) is and Mr. Knightley feels protective but also uh oh jealous??!!"
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this - hope you enjoy!

As Mr. Knightley was dressed for the evening by his footman, he wondered about what he might rather be doing instead of going to a gentlemen-only gathering at the home of the merchant Mr. Cole. Taking a long walk through the Abbey’s grounds? Perhaps. Reading in his study? Could be pleasant. But what he really longed for, he realized as he approached Mr. Cole’s estate and could hear several booming voices and guffaws, was to be sitting quietly in the Woodhouse’s parlour. 

He would much rather be teasing Emma until she turned red with indignation while Mr. Woodhouse snored away in his armchair by the fire. But alas, Mr. Knightley knew what was expected of him as a man of society and he was nothing if not diligent in his duties. No one would ever describe Mr. Knightley as a man of idle leisure, as he spent most of his time working or traveling for work, but he had to admit that when it came to social matters he was rather _lazy_. 

He never opened his home up for visitors, rarely danced at parties, and would much prefer to chat with the women at social gatherings instead of discussing business with the other men. On top of that he was not savvy enough to stay abreast of the latest matters in men’s fashion. His clothes were always of a fine fabric and cut but he had little patience for frequent haircuts, bold colors, loud prints, or anything “flash.” He had one pair of sensible top boots for day and owned but two hats. His one stylistic flourish was his father’s signet ring bestowed with the family crest that he wore upon his left hand - but that really just made for an excellent fidgeting device when in company rather than a strong sartorial choice. 

Entering the Cole’s parlour, he glanced around the room at who was present. There were not many other young men of his class in Highbury and, with his brother away in London, Mr. Knightley often found himself the youngest gentleman in attendance of any gathering among the area’s landowners and merchants of status. He considered Robert Martin a good friend, perhaps his best and most well-regarded, but was highly aware that his position as master and employer over the young farmer meant their friendship had boundaries that could never be crossed. This thought often saddened and depressed Mr. Knightley, especially when he was most accustomed to interacting with men who were older than him by at least twenty years or more. 

So when Philip Elton became the new vicar of Highbury, he had some hope that the young man would prove a stimulating conversationalist during long, rather tedious parties. He was sorry to say this was not the case. 

Mr. Elton was well-mannered, but it became apparent to Mr. Knightley that the man was a ruthless social climber and very aware of his own charms. Many people seemed to find Mr. Elton agreeable, but anytime Mr. Knightley engaged him in conversation he regretted it instantly. He found something rather fake in the younger man’s disposition and was surprised to find him supremely vapid. He resolved to avoid the man as much as he could. But that evening he was most unsuccessful, as he was set upon by Mr. Elton almost the very second dinner was finished and the men had sat down for spirits and cards.

“Good evening Mr. Knightley, how do you do?,” inquired the vicar.

Mr. Knightley drew in a weary breath. “Very well, Mr. Elton, I trust that you are in good health.”

The other man nodded and smiled, settling into the open seat next to Mr. Knightley. Swirling his brandy, Mr. Knightley began to feel slightly uneasy - for he felt as if Mr. Elton was about to engage him in a conversation he did not wish to be a part of.

Sure enough, Mr. Elton glanced around at the other men before turning to Mr. Knightley and lowering his voice.

“Mr. Knightley...you are well-acquainted with the Woodhouse's, are you not?”

Mr. Knightley felt his brow wrinkle before tempering his expression back into cool detachment. “Indeed,” he answered easily, “I have known the family since infancy. And since my brother’s marriage to Mr. Woodhouse’s eldest daughter and the death of my own parents, they are, in every practical sense, my family.”

Mr. Elton smiled slightly. “That is _most_ heartwarming Mr. Knightley. I am glad to hear you have such a relationship with them, as I am most curious to learn more about the family.”

Mr. Knightley cocked his head. “What do you wish to know?”

“Oh, their place in the community, their dispositions, that sort of thing.”

“Well,” said Mr. Knightley blowing out a light breath, “Mr. Woodhouse is a landholder and his wife died many years ago. He is a generous man but not accustomed to large gatherings, which is why he is not present this evening. His oldest daughter and my brother live in London. And his younger daughter, Emma, currently remains at home, as I am sure you are aware.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Elton, his eyes alighting with a new vigor of interest, “Miss Woodhouse, she is a most lovely and charming young woman.”

Mr. Knightley bristled. “Indeed,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

But it seemed Mr. Elton’s curiosity had only been piqued further, for he leaned closer towards Mr. Knightley and lowered his voice yet again.

“Mr. Knightley...are you aware if Miss Woodhouse is to become...attached anytime soon?”

A short laugh burst forth from Mr. Knightley’s throat against his will, which turned the heads of a few of the men around them. “Are you asking, Mr. Elton, if Miss Woodhouse is to be engaged and married?”

“Well, yes,” said Mr. Elton, slightly bewildered by Mr. Knightley’s manner over the topic at hand.

Mr. Knightley smiled and shook his head good-humoredly. “Miss Woodhouse is uninterested in matrimony. She declares as much - frequently.”

“She is a beautiful woman in the bloom of life - surely those were but girlhood fancies.”

“That may be so,” said Mr. Knightley, voice filled with mirth, “But, she is not the sort of young woman to fawn after men and spend her days pining for a great romance. She is very sociable as well as being the mistress of her house, and those two things keep her very busy indeed.”

Mr. Elton paused and Mr. Knightley assumed the other man’s enthusiasm had been thoroughly doused.

“...Then you have never seen her take an interest in any one man in particular?”

Mr. Knightley frowned. “As far as I can recall,” he replied, rather curtly.

“Ah well...perhaps that can be changed. I dare say, I find her most...enticing.”

Mr. Knightley’s eyes widened. _What?_

“Mr. Elton…”

“Oh do not act so coy, Mr. Knightley,” laughed the vicar, “You said yourself you see her often. I am sure you are aware of her...qualities. Her fine figure. Her charming character. That grand estate. She is quite the treasure.”

Mr. Knightley blinked and was at a loss for words. “Miss Woodhouse is a fine woman, yes.”

“More than fine, I would say,” smirked Mr. Elton, “I am in the market for a wife and, I dare say, she does capture my eye most readily.”

Mr. Knightley swallowed. But before he could respond, Mr. Elton was pulled into conversation with Mr. Cole and Mr. Knightley was left reeling.

Suddenly, he was awash with a vision he had never desired to imagine. In his mind’s eye he saw Emma astride Mr. Elton, both of them in the throes of passion. Emma was completely bare, her unbound hair trailing down her back nearly to her round, pleasingly plump bottom. The smooth and creamy skin there was rather reddened by the smacking sting of handprints and the grip of eager fingers. Elton’s face was nestled between her breasts, muffling his cries of ecstasy as she bounced against him. Emma’s lovely mouth opened on a series of loud cries as she took the vicar’s stiff -

Mr. Knightley shut the thought away like slamming a door and threw away whatever key might unlock the unwelcome fantasies he had just been entertaining. He blinked, returning to the chatter and pipe tobacco smoke of the men around him. He shook his head lightly and took a long drink from his brandy.

“Mr. Knightley?,” asked Mr. Weston softly, “Are you quite alright?”

Mr. Knightley startled at the older man’s voice. “Oh - yes, yes, I am fine. Thank you.”

Mr. Weston smiled and nodded a jolly “Good, good” before returning to a discussion with Mr. Ford on the health of the ribbons and trimmings market.

Mr. Knightley tried to enjoy the rest of the evening, but he found himself quite unable to fully engage in another conversation. Every time a joke was made and he laughed, thinking his earlier thoughts fully behind him and of a result from too much custard, he couldn’t help but feel his eyes turn on Mr. Elton. And whenever he looked on Mr. Elton, which was often with this being a small gathering of gentlemen, he immediately thought of the man fucking Emma to within an inch of her life. Emma on her stomach as Elton took her deeply and roughly from behind. Emma throwing her head back in pleasure as the vicar made her come exquisitely hard. He drank more brandy, more than was usual for him, in an attempt to banish such perverse thoughts. By the time the men began to rise and murmur farewells, Mr. Knightley found himself very hot in the face, heart-beating rapidly and slightly out of breath as if he had just run from Donwell all the way to Hartfield. Which is what he felt like doing at the present moment, in order to warn Emma against Mr. Elton’s present advances and dissuade her from inviting him so frequently to her father’s house.

But as he was handed his top hat and stepped outside, Mr. Knightley froze with the realization that Emma might _welcome_ the vicar’s attentions. Just recently he could have sworn that she was attempting to match the man with Harriet Smith - what with her talk of “loveliness itself.” But perhaps Emma had since taken a liking to Mr. Elton for herself. Ordinarily he would have deemed such an idea as highly unlikely, but now it did not seem beyond the realm of possibility. Emma was a beautiful woman of marriageable age - perhaps she had begun to desire care and affection from a man. She had discussed Frank Churchill more frequently in recent days, but Mr. Knightley had waved that away as Emma’s interest in gossip and local intrigue. 

He was particularly glad for not taking his carriage that evening - he badly needed the walk to clear his head. Several of the other gentlemen called after him, offering use of their carriage, but he merely smiled and headed on his way.

Mr. Knightley was often in the habit of heading down to the kitchens late at night after returning from a party or gathering - his frequent walking often leaving him famished. His appearances sometimes startled young servants new to the household but they quickly got used to him as his visits were waved away by the cook. After returning from his night at Mr. Cole’s, Mr. Knightley was glad to find the kitchens empty of all staff. This suited him well as he could entertain his foul mood in peace. He had hoped his midnight snack might lift his spirits somewhat, but as he sat there at one of the great wooden work tables he found himself eating his bread and dripping rather sullenly - like a child made to finish every last bite of dinner before being allowed pudding.

Why was he so vexed at the idea of Emma marrying Mr. Elton? She was a woman now, she could do as she pleased. _Yet_. Emma was perhaps his oldest and dearest friend - he spent more time with her and her father than anyone else in Highbury, aside from his tenants. He should wish the best for her. And he was more than positive that Mr. Elton was _not_ the best of men. He resolved to tell her as much if the opportunity presented itself; he also resolved to, as much as was reasonable, be present in situations where Mr. Elton might seek Emma’s favor. He knew the vicar had been invited to Hartfield on some recent morning and vaguely remembered a conversation with Miss Bates where she detailed how Emma was to paint a portrait of Harriet Smith and Mr. Elton had seemed most excited at the opportunity to be present for it. Perhaps Mr. Knightley could find a way to see Mr. Woodhouse more frequently on matters regarding their farms and estates...during the day...when Emma might be entertaining guests…

The next morning Mr. Knightley awoke with a slight headache. _All that brandy_ , he thought ruefully. He chalked up his sour temperament the night before to his excessive alcohol consumption at the party. He did not think more on Mr. Elton, or Mr. Elton near, with, or on top of Emma. Instead he rose, dressed, and made to look for William Larkins in order to discuss the apple harvest. He resolved to have dinner with the Woodhouse's - a much preferred evening than the one he’d had previously. Perhaps he would bring them a half-bushel of apples - he could picture their respective reactions and the thought made him smile. Emma’s eyes would twinkle with delight before she gave him her infamously coy smile. “Why thank you, Mr. Knightley,” she would tease, “But our cook is very able to keep us in fresh fruit, apples included.”

He would chuckle at that. “I do not doubt it - I only thought it right that you should have the very best of apples. But if you should not want them, I can gladly take them back to Donwell…”

Her lovely rosebud mouth would open in feigned shock. “Don’t you dare!”

Emma would snatch the basket from him and they would laugh lightly - then Emma would call excitedly to Mr. Woodhouse in the next room.

“Father! Come see the most exquisite apples Mr. Knightley has brought us. I do think they shall make a very fine tart.”

Mr. Woodhouse’s head would pop into the foyer. “Oh Mr. Knightley you should not have brought us such a gift. The amount of sugar in an apple tart…”

“Oh but Father, it is one of my very favourite desserts.”

“And the custard to go along with it…,” Mr. Woodhouse would sigh as if a deadly sickness had descended on the village.

“Custard is very fine and lovely, Father.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Mr. Knightley would wink at Emma before turning to Mr. Woodhouse, “I dare say I had custard last evening and it plagued me for the rest of the night.”

“There! You see? Mr. Knightley agrees.”

“In moderation then,” Emma would cry, “In _moderation_!”

Then, following Emma into the drawing room, Mr. Knightley would say, “Mr. Woodhouse you must allow such a treat. For there is no greater sight than watching Miss Woodhouse take delight in dessert.”

Emma’s cheeks would flush a tender pink then as he smirked at her - the stain almost as lovely as the basket of ruddy apples in her arms.

🍎🍎🍎

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading this review of Emma. written by Sheila O'Malley, and she describes Johnny Flynn's Mr. Knightley as ["independent, a little bit lazy, and also vaguely cranky."](https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/emma-movie-review-2020)  
> I absolutely loved that description so I tried to work it into this story.
> 
> [For your late-night snacking needs while processing your feelings](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dripping)


End file.
